


Between the Drinks and Subtle Things

by yodasyoyo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Derek tries so hard to woo Stiles and Stiles doesn't get it at ALL, Jock Derek, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nerd Stiles, Oblivious Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: He holds up his free hand, eyes still closed. “One second,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m just taking a moment to mourn the fact that we could have been fucking since–” He cracks open an eye and glares at Derek.“Freshman year,” Derek supplies. “I’ve pretty much had the biggest crush on you since our freshman year.”





	Between the Drinks and Subtle Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artemis69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis69/gifts).



> The title is from We Are Young, by fun.

“Oh. My. God,” Stiles huffs, shuffling papers together and stuffing them haphazardly into his messenger bag, as he starts to stand. “Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.”

It’s as though Derek Hale exists purely to be a pain in his ass. Their whole Criminal Psych class is supposed to be giving presentations over the next couple of days, and Stiles has spent weeks, _weeks,_ lovingly researching restorative justice so that he can deliver his tomorrow, only to watch Derek fucking Hale stand up today and speak on the exact same topic. Ugh. What an ass.

The worst thing--the real kick in the teeth-- was that it had been good too. Really good. Insightful, even. God. Ms. Morrell, their lecturer, had practically been misty eyed,  thanking Derek for his contribution when he finished. Stiles is gonna have to go home and completely rework what he has or it’ll look like he copied fucking Derek. With an enraged huff, he throws his bag over his shoulder dramatically and storms towards the door of the lecture hall.

“Hey, Stilinski!” He feels his spine stiffen at the sound of his own name, pretends not to hear and quickens his pace. He can’t resist looking back before he reaches the door though, just in time to see Derek vaulting over the seats to reach him, like the all star collegiate athlete he is. Stiles scowls as Derek slides across a desk and sprints the last few steps effortlessly. It isn’t attractive. It isn't. It’s--showy. Arrogant. Stiles could probably do that too if he lived on nothing but protein shakes like Derek probably does. “Stilinski, wait up!”

Derek skids to a stop, wedging himself between Stiles and the door, and dammit, Stiles is totally caught. There’s no way to escape now.

“What?” Stiles jabs his glasses further up his nose with a finger, and glares at Derek.

“Hey!” He might have sprinted the length of the lecture hall, but Derek’s barely out of breath. The bastard. He smirks at Stiles. That stupid, arrogant, dickish, smug smile that Stiles has grown to loathe over the last three years. “There’s a party at Phi Alpha Delta on Saturday.”

“So?”

“So.” Derek rests one arm on the door frame just above Stiles head and leans in a little. He smells like leather and cedar and some kind of cologne. It’s all very masculine and good and--ugh. Stiles shuts his eyes. He hates his life. “Sooooo, I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

“I’m not joining your frat.” Stiles’ eyes fly open and he folds his arms across his chest. He refuses to be cowed by Derek’s amazing smell and blatant disregard for his personal space. Refuses! “We’ve had this conversation.”

Derek rolls his eyes, smiles a little. “I’m not asking you to join the fucking frat, dumbass. Rush week was at the beginning of the school year. It’s March.”

“I know what month it is.”

“Okay, okay.” Derek holds up one hand. “You know what month it is. Are you gonna come?”

It’s all a trick. He’s probably just inviting Stiles so he can prank him again. Derek Hale, mega rich, douchebag, frat boy and superstar of the college baseball team is the undisputed king of campus, and ever since they both started here three years ago he has lived to make Stiles’ life difficult. Case in point: “Did you deliberately choose to do your presentation today on restorative justice?”

Derek stares at him blankly. Then says, “No. I tripped and fell on my laptop. It was a total accident.”

“Hale,” Stiles growls.

“Of course I did it deliberately. Why?”

“Because I’m going to give a presentation on the exact same topic tomorrow,” Stiles says furiously.

“We picked the same topic?”

“Yes!”

Derek grins. “Hey, great minds.”

“No. No! Not great minds. Did you hear me say that’s what I was gonna do? Is this some kind of joke? Because unlike you I am a poor pre-law college student and--”

“Hey, we’re both pre-law,” Derek says with a slight frown. “And are you saying you think I need to copy your ideas?”

Stiles swallows. Derek has a point. He’s pretty much one of the smartest students in the class, next to Stiles and Lydia Martin. “Noooo,” he says backpedalling quickly. “I just-- It seems like a coincidence. One in a long line of coincidences. I figured you were trying to throw me off my game--”

Derek looks faintly amused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know!” Stiles taps a finger against his nose. “We both know. Don’t pretend you don’t know. I got my eye on you, mister. Both of ‘em.”

“Okaaaaay,” Derek squints at him. “Duly noted. So. Are you gonna come to the party?”

“Ohhhhoho. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Stiles snarls.

“Uhm--Yes?”

“Typical!” Stiles ducks out from under Derek’s arm and pushes the door open. Turning back he shakes his finger accusingly at Derek one last time. “So fucking typical.”

“But--” Derek calls after him. “--does that mean you’re gonna be there?”

Stiles stomps down the hallway and doesn’t dein to reply.

 

-

 

“You know it would serve him right if I did go to his stupid party,” Stiles grumbles later. When he got home he spent two hours frantically reviewing his presentation for tomorrow, before his initial panic subsided. Now he can admit that he and Derek approached the subject in very different ways and it’ll probably be fine. So he’s given up and is now slouched on the couch with Scott watching Project Runway reruns, and stuffing his face with chips and Dr. Pepper. “Oh my god, look at that fabric. What are they doing?”

“I don’t know. I think it looks pretty good,” Scott says, taking a sip of his drink. “I like yellow.”

“That’s because you are a literal ball of a sunshine. Oh my god, they’re cutting on the bias and putting it with that puce floral print.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott concedes. “That might be a mistake. What party are you talking about?”

“Derek fucking Hale invited me to a kegger at his stupid frat house this Saturday.”

“Really?” Scott perks up. “Will Kira be there?”

“How should I know?”

“I bet she will, her sorority does stuff with those guys all the time.”

Stiles isn’t listening. His mind is filled with thoughts of vengeance. “He knows I’m not gonna go. He’s probably expecting me to refuse. That’s probably the plan. And then he’s gonna do something super embarrassing while I’m not there. Like that thing at the post game party, when they beat Arizona State last year, or Erica’s birthday party, or Isaac’s birthday party. Or the thing with the aquarium.”

“I wonder if Hayden knows if Kira’ll be--wait. What was that about an aquarium?”

“He adopted an octopus in my name at the Beacon Hills aquarium. There’s a sign there now and everything. I asked them to take it down, but they wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” Scott’s brow creases in a frown. “I--what? An octopus?”

“Exactly. What a douche.”

“You don’t like octopuses? Wait, octopi?”

“Octopuses,” Stiles says. “And I love them. They are literally the best creature on the planet. That’s so not the point.”

Scott raises one eyebrow carefully. “What is the point?”

“He’s doing it to humiliate me!” Stiles says shrilly. “Don’t you understand?”

“Humiliate you… by adopting an octopus.”

“Yes! Like the rich, douchey, frat boy, jock, jerk he is. Because now he can be all, ‘oh look, Stiles and octopuses ewwww.’” Derek had adopted it using Stiles’ real name, that was the nub of the issue. Stiles' real name was now hanging up in the Beacon Hills Aquarium for everyone to see. Stiles hasn’t used his real name since he was four years old. Fucking Derek. Trust him to take something that could have been an amazing gesture and deliberately ruin it to mock Stiles.

Scott opens his mouth. Then shuts it again. Then shakes his head a little. Says, “So. Are you gonna go?”

“To the stupid party? Oh yeah,” Stiles says decisively. “I’m gonna go. It’s the only way to teach him a goddamn lesson.”

Scott scratches his head. Once again, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he seems to think better of it.

“You have to come with me,” Stiles says, clutching at his leg.

“Yeah, sure--” Scott says, then: “Oh, my god!” They both turn to stare at the TV. “Those boots, with that dress? Seriously?”

“These designers have the entire Piper Lime wall to choose from,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up at the TV in despair. “And this is what they come up with? Why don’t you just put her in a trash bag and send her down the runway barefoot, it’d look better! Look at the back! Look at it!” He grabs a handful of potato chips and stuffs them into his mouth.  
  
“It’s gaping, and the hem is uneven,” Scott says. “And look at the styling. They should have gone with the coral lipstick.”

“You’re right, Scotty,” Stiles says, spraying half-chewed chips everywhere. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

 

-

 

The whole thing with Derek wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so stupidly perfect. It seems like there’s nothing the guy can’t do. If Stiles could dismiss him as a dumb jock who was only here because his daddy was rich it’d be so much easier. But no. The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to be an ignorant bimbo. He has to be all snarky, and surprisingly intelligent, and built like a god. Whenever Stiles makes a point in class, it’s always Derek who cuts in and makes the counterpoint with his stupid smug smirk. It’s always Derek challenging him and forcing him to up his game. It isn’t fair. Stiles is smart, okay? That’s what he is. That’s his thing. Smart, reasonably good looking and kind of a klutz. That’s okay though, that’s character. Everyone has flaws.  People like Derek Hale are too perfect. They skew the curve for everyone else, and it’s selfish.

Derek wears these stupid tight jeans too, and these fucking henleys that always have a couple of buttons popped showing off a little bit of chest hair. Because of course he has chest hair- as if he isn’t perfect enough already. During their midterms he turned up to a test wearing his stupid tight jeans and a sweater with thumboles. Thumbholes! He’d winked at Stiles when he sat down in the seat across the aisle from him. Jesus. Thinking back on it now, Stiles views it as an unwarranted act of aggression. A deliberate attempt to distract him from maintaining his GPA. It had been so difficult to take the test when he was sporting a really confused, resentful boner.

Worse, Derek knows the effect he has on Stiles too, plays up to it. There have been-- incidents-- over the last three years. Many, many incidents. Stiles has a file with them all written down, it’s labelled “Reasons I Hate Derek Hale,” and it contains a record of every injustice Derek has ever perpetrated against him,  from, “Smells too good,” and “Has impossible color eyes,” to “Sang ‘Baby’ by Justin Bieber on the karaoke machine at Erica Reyes birthday party and dedicated his performance to me.” What a dick. Bieber. Bieber! Derek could sing too. Really well, actually. Because of course Stiles can’t even have the satisfaction of one tiny imperfection. He wants to punch a wall just thinking about it.

So this is it. He is done being humiliated. He is gonna turn up to this party and have it out with Derek once and for all. There will be no more embarrassing Stiles. No more! They’re gonna be seniors next year, and Stiles is done. So fucking done. There will be no more smirking and knowing looks. No more humiliating Stiles at parties with his avant garde karaoke choices. No. Senior year Stiles wants to be left alone in peace to pursue his studies, and pine hopelessly from a distance.

On Saturday night Stiles squeezes himself into his tightest skinny jeans, and an old Incredible Hulk graphic tee that’s about two sizes too small. He’s also spends about two hours fiddling with his hair, trying to achieve the ‘bed head’ look, although he isn’t quite sure he succeeds. It may actually look like he just got out of bed, which is definitely not what he’s going for. He gives up in the end, decides he doesn’t look too bad. Even with the subpar hair the jeans still show of his ass and paired with his thick, black-rimmed glasses he looks kinda hipstery, possibly even cool.

Yeah, he thinks staring at himself one last time in the mirror before he leaves, he can be cool.

He can totally be cool.

Nerds are cool now. That’s a thing. He read about it in US magazine last time he went to the dentist. So fuck Derek. Fuck whatever he has planned this evening in his ongoing campaign to humiliate Stiles. Stiles is cool. Stiles is ice fucking cold. He has his best underwear on and his lucky Wonder Woman socks. He is bringing his A game. Once he’s finally hashed things out with Derek, he may even try and get laid.

 

-

 

Stiles walks into the party shoulder to shoulder with Scott, trying not to choke on the smell of stale perfume, sweat and booze that permeates the air. The bass is thumping out a beat, and in the first room they enter, Isaac Lahey is doing a keg stand. Scott cranes his neck looking around.

“I think I see Kira!” he says, nodding over toward the kitchen where a group of people are playing beer pong.  “Can I--” He looks back at Stiles, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yeah! Yes. Of course. Go find her, buddy.” Stiles says, waving him away.

“You’re the best!” Scott claps him on the back and then disappears into the crowd leaving Stiles alone.

And he feels alone. Most of these people are jocks or greeks. Sure there’s the odd glimpse of people he knows from around campus, like Erica or Boyd or Lydia, but mostly they’re strangers. There’s whooping and cheering from the beer pong table, and Stiles decides his best bet is to go and watch that, maybe get himself something alcoholic to ease his pain.

He’s standing at the counter mixing himself a drink: coke, vodka and a twist of lime, when he hears someone call his name.

“Stiles! Stiles!” Derek Hale pushes through the crowd toward him. He’s wearing board shorts and a baseball jersey, and he looks fucking elated. The grin on his face is almost splitting it in two. “You came!”

“Yup!” Stiles finishes adding a healthy dose of vodka and swirls this mixture around. Then brings it to his lips and takes a long swallow. “I came. Yay me.”

Derek’s standing next to him now. One hand on the table, whole body oriented towards Stiles. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I bet!” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes. “Probably hoping I wouldn’t, huh? So we could have a repeat of the post game blow out after you guys beat Arizona state last year.”

Derek colors slightly. “You heard about that one, huh?”

“Kinda difficult to miss it when everyone I've ever met made a point of finding me the next day just to tell me about it, so-- thanks!” Complete strangers had been approaching him weeks after that particular incident wanting to 'congratulate' him. Stiles suppresses a shiver and lifts his cup in a mock toast, then takes another sip. The alcohol isn’t really hitting him yet, he isn’t even a little bit buzzed.

“Ahh, sorry about that,” Derek rubs the back of his neck ruefully and is he-- is he blushing? “I didn’t mean to--”

“Whatever. That’s why I’m here tonight. To make sure there’s not gonna be a repeat of that, okay?” There, he’s said it. They’re both on the same page.

Derek smiles then, but not his normal smile. Not the smirk. This one is small. Contrite. “Okay.” They stand there in silence for a long minute.  Then he says, “I--uh--I thought your presentation was great by the way. Great use of Barton’s theory to support your argument.”

“You think so?” Stiles says, feeling kinda smug. He’d worked hard on that. He feels some of the tension he’s carrying start to ease. “You want me to make you a drink?”

“Sure,” Derek says. “Whatever you're having.”

“Okay.” Stiles grabs a cup and the coke and starts to pour, and Derek’s kinda pressed up against him, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder, in complete violation of all personal boundaries, but for once, Stiles doesn’t mind so much. “I liked your presentation too,” Stiles says as he puts down the coke and reaches for the vodka. He pours in a decent amount of the vodka then adds a wedge of lime, and hands the cup to Derek, who takes it. “But I was thinking about it, and you’re wrong about Gavrielides.”

“What do you mean I’m wrong?” Derek holds the cup loosely in his hand and doesn’t take a sip.

“I mean in your critique of his methodologies, obviously.”

Derek puts the cup down on the table then, and folds his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

Stiles places his own cup down and takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says. “It’s like this.”

 

-

 

“You are unbelievable,” Derek hisses as the door to the bedroom slams shut behind them. Stiles is vaguely aware of some truly horrifying lime green walls as Derek walks them back across the room, his fingers fumbling Stiles’ fly, as Stiles presses open-mouthed kisses along his neck. “You’re totally misrepresenting the whole argument to make your point.”

“Lies,” Stiles moans, back arching as Derek tugs down his underwear and gets a grip round his cock. “You’re the one who’s using insufficient data to support your conclusion --uhhhh--ohmygodohmygod, don’t stop--” He stumbles a little as the back of his legs hit something, a bed. And suddenly it seems ridiculous to Stiles that either of them are still wearing clothes at all. He tugs his t-shirt over his head impulsively, and only just avoids hitting Derek on the nose.

“Shirt off, shirt off,” Stiles says urgently, trying to manhandle Derek out of his stupid baseball jersey. He’s a Giants fan, ugh. Maybe Stiles has found an imperfection after all. “Mets are better,” he says, as he helps Derek pull the shirt over his head.

“Just another example of how wrong you are, about _everything_.” Derek says, and pushes him back onto the bed. “Now take those ridiculous fucking jeans off, Jesus. Your ass. I love your ass.”

“My ass?” Stiles moans, peeling his jeans and underwear off and lobbing them blindly into the day-glo green horror of Derek’s bedroom. “God,  take off your clothes.” And Derek does, at record speed, then climbs on top of him and kissing him.  
  
Stiles isn’t sure how they got to this point. Two hours standing in the kitchen arguing about everything from psychology to superheroes and now this. Stiles hasn’t even touched his drink beyond those first few sips.  
  
God. Derek is infuriating. Infuriating and apparently possessed of a perfect dick. Godammit. “Get on your back,” Stiles says, scrabbling out from under him and up onto his knees. “Jesus. Look at it. I’m gonna be forced to blow you now.”

“You--”

“No! No more talking. There has been too much talking,” Stiles says glaring at him. “I’m the one with the 4.5 GPA and I’m telling you. Definitively. One: Andrew Garfield was sexy and funny and imbued the role with-- with pathos. And two: I’m gonna blow you now.”

Derek doesn’t get with the program though. Doesn’t lie back on the bed. “Tom Holland is funny too, and he does more of his own stunts.”

“There’s only been one film. One.”

“Amazing Spiderman 2 was shit.”

“It’s underrated.”

“No. You’re just crushing on Andrew Garfield too much to see the truth. Besides Tom Holland has played Spidey in more than one movie. He was in Civil War. Hell. If we’re gonna talk about pathos, he was in Infinity--”

“We do not talk about that goddamn movie,” Stiles snarls pushing Derek back on to the bed. “I am in mourning.” And with that he takes Derek into his mouth. And after that they abandon conversation in pursuit of other things.

 

-

 

Stiles wakes in increments the next morning. The bed doesn’t smell right. It smells like cedar and cologne and the wrong laundry detergent. That’s his first clue that he’s not in his own room. His second clue is that the sound is wrong, he always keeps his window open and he and Scott live on a busy street above bodega, so he’s used to the sound of traffic, but there’s no noise here at all. He cracks an eye. He’s in a bed with bright green sheets. Like, offensively bright and--oh god. Memories of the night before come back to him in a rush and sits up in bed with a squawk looking about himself.

Sure enough. There’s Derek Hale on the opposite side of the bed to Stiles, face still slack with sleep. Derek fucking Hale. Stiles stares at him. Stares and stares and stares and-- and then leaps out of bed like he’s been electrocuted and starts hunting for his clothes. Stomach churning. In the cold light of day what happened between them last night seems a terrible decision.

“Oh my god!” he chants as he plucks his skinny jeans off a lamp and throws them on the bed. He can’t put them on yet, because he can’t find his underwear. He can’t find his underwear, or his hulk t-shirt. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Aha!” He grabs his socks triumphantly, from where they’d been covering a Boba Fett figure on Derek’s desk.

He has socks. That’s something. That’s--

“Stiles?” Derek says blearily, and Stiles freezes guiltily for two whole seconds. It gives Derek time to sit up in the bed. His ridiculous fucking bed. With its neon green sheets and pillowcases that have frills and are decorated with fruit. It’s unbelievable. In his wildest imaginings Stiles never pictured Derek Hales room like this. It’s as if this is some kind of cosmic jok-- oh god.

“Was this a joke?” Stiles says, hopping about on one foot, flaccid dick slapping against his inner thigh,  as he tries to put a sock on. “Are you hazing me? Am I being hazed?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, blinking at him. “I’m hazing you. That’s why you fucked me last night.”

“Yeah. Well. Your _frilly_ pillowcases have limes on them, and little pink flowers,” Stiles says flailing at them wildly with his other sock. “Forgive me for thinking that this can’t be real.”

“Sorry,” Derek yawns a little. “I only just woke up and I’m confused. What’s happening here. Are you criticizing my taste in interior design or accusing me of something?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. It’s weird. This whole thing is weird. Don’t you understand?”

Derek huffs out a sigh. “Will you please just come back to bed?”

Stiles pauses, incredibly aware that he’s naked, except for one socked foot. “Are you serious right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Derek scrubs a hand over his face and yawns again.

“Because.” Stiles shrugs hopelessly. “We hate each other.”

“Wait.” Derek sits up a little straighter in the bed, suddenly he seems very much more awake. “You hate me?”

“Okay.” Stiles puffs out his cheeks and blows out a sigh. He can feel himself blushing under Derek’s wounded stare. “I don’t hate you. You have to know I don’t hate you. But you--you definitely hate me.”

“You think I hate you?” Derek’s expression morphs from wounded to bemused.

“This isn’t news. We disagree about everything. Everything! All the time.”

“Healthy debate is good for relationships.” Derek says and Stiles snorts, fidgeting with the sock in his hand. There’s a knot of anxiety building in his stomach; he feels totally exposed, and not just because he’s almost entirely naked.

Kneeling up, Derek crawls across the bed on his hands and knees and takes Stiles by the hand gently.  “Stilinski, I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know how you’ve missed this. But I’m crazy about you. I’ve been trying to ask you out for months.”

“No–”

“You’re the one who’s always talking about your GPA. How have you missed it? Literally everyone knows.”

Stiles looks down at where Derek’s rubbing his thumb back and forward across Stiles’ knuckles. “You’ve been mocking me--” he says uncertainly. “The thing with the octopus.”

“I thought you’d like that.”

“You used my real name. I hate real my name. I literally never use it.”

“Oh--” Derek winces. “But--”

“And the Justin Bieber thing. And the thing after you guys beat Arizona State. At the party.”

“You mean where I got horrifically drunk, stood on the table and dedicated the win to you--”

“You dedicated the win to your future husband Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles says, blushing hotly. “I thought you were being a dick. Making fun of me because you knew I had this crazy crush on you.”

“Stiles,” Derek reaches out, cups his face between his hands and forces Stiles to look at him. “We have so much chemistry. And you’re funny and loyal and hot as hell, and, up until about two minutes ago, I would’ve said you were smart. Why wouldn’t I like you? I’m crazy about you.” His not-a-real-color eyes are deadly serious.

“Oh god.” Stiles closes his eyes, jaw ticking furiously.

“What?”

He holds up his free hand, eyes still closed. “One second,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m just taking a moment to mourn the fact that we could have been fucking since–” He cracks open an eye and glares at Derek.

“Freshman year,” Derek supplies. “I’ve pretty much had the biggest crush on you since our freshman year.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles spits. Suddenly he’s beyond pissed. “Fuck.” He pushes Derek back on to the bed, and follows him down, arms caging him in. “You are unbelievable, and we are both idiots.”

“Mainly you,” Derek says with a smirk. A wonderful, sexy smirk, that Stiles absolutely fucking adores.

“No. You sang Justin Bieber at me,” Stiles says. “Justin Bieber. How was I supposed to know that you were serious.”

“Stiles--”

“Bieber, Derek!”

Derek grins up at him lazily. “I stand by my choices.”

Stiles huffs out an exasperated sigh and leans down to kiss him fiercely.

They don’t get out of bed for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a fic that I rushed out today very quickly. Basically yesterday Hoechloin posted a [pic](https://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/post/176701026799/hoechloin-melvinsmarty-a-teen-wolf-in-sheeps) on tumblr, (THAT YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY CHECK OUT). It's a screencap of Hoech from the Melvin Smarty movie, and as you will see if you follow the link, it inspired me to write a little ficlet, and when the wonderful Artemis69 reblogged it she said that she wanted to know what happened before and after. Artemis, what can I say, you're awesome-- and I felt inspired. So this fic is the answer to what happened before.
> 
> What happened after is: They fell in love and bickered happily ever after. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you read this disaster and felt like leaving kudos or a comment, then I am eternally grateful xx
> 
> *edited to adjust the rating down. Because I had originally put a little more detail in the blow job scene but then it didn’t really fit. So I removed it... and then promptly forgot that I'd done it XD


End file.
